Many persons passed by the poor invalid as she lay thus helpless upon the stones. At last, one more thoughtful and more humane than the rest, bent down and spoke to her. She opened her eyes, looked at him with a dull, vacant gaze, and besought him, in husky tones, to go away and tell Chester that she was there, waiting. The man saw that she was suffering, and, let the cause be what it might, incapable of moving. He called to a woman, who was passing by with a basket on her arm, and gave her a shilling to sit down and hold the invalid's head in her lap, while he went for help.
"She may be only ill," said the benevolent Samaritan to the officer of police, whom he met on a corner. "There is no look about her of habitual intemperance; at any rate, she cannot be hardened."
The officer followed this kind man, and they found Mrs. Chester moaning bitterly, and much exhausted by the exertion she had made.
"It is a singular case," said the policeman, "her language is good, her appearance might be ladylike. But, see." The man pointed with a meaning smile at the symmetrical feet in their loose slippers. The blue veins were swelling under the white surface, and there was a faint spasmodic quiver of the muscles that seemed to spread over her whole frame.
"I can hardly believe that this is intoxication," said the stranger, gazing compassionately on the prostrate woman. "She must be ill—taken down suddenly in the street."
"But how came she barefooted? and her hair, it has not been done up in a week? I'm afraid we can't make out a clear case, sir."
"But where will you take her?"
"Home, if she can tell us where it is—to the Tombs, if she is so far gone as not to know," replied the man.
"The Tombs!"
"Oh, that is the City Prison, sir."